


For the rainy day

by Laurie



Category: Preacher (Comics), Preacher (TV)
Genre: Angst, But way less than in what I usually write, Dogs, M/M, Pining, lots of swearing, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurie/pseuds/Laurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shakes his head, amazed at the stupidity of his own thoughts. For every confusing and ridiculous emotion he’s been through ever since Cass has first appeared in his life, crashing down on him like a goddamn sledgehammer, Jesse still can’t quite believe he’s being jealous of a puppy now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the rainy day

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help myself. I succumbed to the desire, did fuckall the last couple of days, because i was too busy writing that shite. I am a weak human being with a strong addition to the slashy Preacher goodness.  
> This was supposed to be a tiny little thing, maybe a 1000 words long, but, as usual, I had no brakes to push at and here we are at almost 8000 words of sheer stupidity instead. Oh well, what can I do (except write EVEN MORE fic!! (stop that!))  
> Anyway, as always, all your comments are extremely appreciated, reread about a gazillion times, printed, laminated and hung in frames above my bed, so please, do comment to make my daft heart beat faster! Enjoy this ridiculous vomit of words of a story, lads!

The heat from the burning late-August sun is coming down on him in waves, like seawater after the rising tide, but unlike when at the seaside, there’s no escape from the heat, nor from the feeling of his blood boiling – much like water in a kettle – in his veins. Jesse sighs, wiping sweat from his forehead, the inner side of his elbows, and squints at the miles and miles of prairie that stretches further than the line of horizon. It’s half ten in the morning only, and he dreads the heat that’s coming in the afternoon when the sun is looking down on him indifferently and mockingly from the highest point in the sky. He wipes droplets of sweat from the back of his palm where his hands have been touching.

This is it, Jesse thinks bitterly, desperately, _this is it_. There are often moments, just like this one, when he thinks that this is his punishment, this is what he gets after living his life the way he had, before everything went to shit, before Tulip developed that awful glassy glint in her eyes.

This is how God is repaying him for all the lives Jesse’s ruined, and if there is a way, if there’s still coming back from it, Jesse sure doesn’t deserve it.

He deserves exactly what he’s got.

“Fuckin’ pile of wank, what a desperate fucking hole!” comes a voice somewhere behind him that only serves to prove his point.

He sighs heavily, mentally preparing himself for whatever might come next; he never knows with Cassidy. He turns around to look at a crazy mess of blankets, a sweater, a shirt, oven gloves and a Vietnamese sunhat, among which he can barely spot Cassidy’s skinny long face. The bare, uncovered area of pale Irish skin that he can see, though, is visibly bruised and covered in something that looks like blood.

Jesse stands and straightens _immediately._

“Cass,” he says, surprisingly worried, “What the hell happened to ya?”

“What the hell do you think, Padre, I got into a bleeding fight!” Cassidy says, whiningly and a bit petulantly.

“With who?” Jesse asks, coming closer and taking Cass’s shades off. The gesture is weirdly intimate, and lost in the moment, Jesse reaches out and touches Cass’s cheek. He sees Cass swallow visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. They are silent, and Jesse’s fingers are still resting on Cassidy’s cold skin, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Tentatively, his fingers touch along the thick bleeding cut coming down from underneath Cass’s left eye to his chin. It looks awful and will definitely leave a scar, even with Cass’s vampire healing, it’ll still be there from now on, being as deep as it is. But this scar is a part of Cass now, and Jesse can never hate a part of Cass, so he accepts this new addition to his friend’s face with a sad sigh.

“With those feckin’ gowls at the bar, mate, apparently they didn’t much appreciated my sense of style, yeah,” Cass says, and the moment is broken. Jesse puts his hand back where it belongs – along his damn leg – and takes a step back.

“So what, obviously fashion is not your profession,” Jesse smirks, as Cass rolls his eyes. “That’s barely a reason to start a fight, Cass.”

“Well, yes, Padre, thank you, say exactly that on your next anger management session with t’ose dopes, will ya?”

Only then does Cass move, his blankets following him, opening Jesse a view on the lower part of the vampire’s body. It’s pretty clear to Jesse now that Cass is wearing a skirt, a pink one with tiny yellow flowers all over. This shocks a laugh out of his throat, the reason for a fight more obvious with that new evidence.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead and have some craic at me expense, some bleeding friend you are! Right, sure, Cassidy being punched in his face is so fuckin’ gas!” Cass grumbles, but Jesse thinks he sees a flick of a smile while he says that. “Next time that bloody donation box is empty I’m borrowing your pants, ya hear me?”

“Sure, you can try,” Jesse laughs. He looks at Cass’s outfit a little longer, and then there’s a pressing in his crotch area. Suddenly, the situation is not funny at all. “Like any of it would fit your tiny skinny body,” he says in hopes to mask the flush he feels spreading down his face to his neck.

“The cheek of ya, now, I’m not that much skinnier than you,” Cass says indignantly, gesturing down at his very skinny body. “And I’m taller than you, you lil’ shite!”

He stands a bit straighter at that, stretching as high as he can, and Jesse fights another fit of laughter threatening to escape his throat. Cass’s voice has that usual hoarse quality to it, but then there’s something else in it as well, and Jesse suddenly needs to look away, anywhere at all but at Cass.

“What are you gonna do about that scar? It ain’t gonna go away, I don’t think,” he says.

“It hurts,” Cass says a little more seriously, which instantly lets Jesse know just how much pain Cass must be in. He forces himself to look back at the vampire, who’s staring at him, miserable look on his face. Jesse has a sudden unresisting desire to hug him and hold him close, tell him that it’s going to be alright, and that Jesse’s here for him, and it’s so ridiculous in its cheesiness and redundancy that he has to shake his head to fight the stupid urge away.

“But you should’ve seen the other lads,” Cass says, apparently sensing that they were getting into a fragile unfamiliar territory.

“I probably don’t want to know, but,” Jesse says, and he really doesn’t, he tries his best to fight every single reminder of the fact that Cassidy is, indeed, a murderous vampire. But as he dwells on that, there’s another thought, that Cassidy’s cut is still there, still bleeding, which means Cass hasn’t had any blood yet, apparently. “What happened to them?”

“Ah, my dear Padre, I went and made your holy self proud today, didn’t I,” Cass says, grinning his toothy crazy smile. “Didn’t even kill those twats, mate, I swear to ya, just made it really, really hurt, like a good boy that I am! Ah, it was just fecking savage, I even managed to make one of them make a bunny sound to make you proud, so the student has surpassed the master!”

And the thing is, Jesse _is_ proud. Briefly, he wonders how exactly he’s got a point in his life where he’s proud of his friend because said friend merely _didn’t kill anybody_ – no, scratch that – hasn’t killed anybody _today._ He sighs long-sufferingly, but he feels his own lips stretching into a smile. It almost hurts, sometimes, not to smile at Cassidy.

Sometimes, it feels that God has forgiven him, instead, when Cassidy’s at his side or following him around like a loyal puppy. Those moments, far and rare in between, make him finally feel calm, make him feel at peace.

He doesn’t fight his smile anymore, lets it spread into a full-blown grin, with teeth and all. Cassidy looks very accomplished.

“You’ll get special treats for that, Cass, no doubt about it,” He says cheekily, and Cass smirks. They both know Cass would’ve gotten the special treat in form of a dusty bottle of shit whiskey, anyway, but Cass lets it slide. “You’re going soft on me, Cass.”

And Cassidy frowns at that, his shoulders sloped, head going down. He reminds Jesse of a toddler, exhausted after a tantrum, cried out. He avoids looking at Jesse, just stands there, frowning, biting his lip.

“Yeah, Padre. Indeed, I am.”

Jesse says nothing, lost for words, and they are both silent as they walk into the little church. They are still silent and a little awkward as Jesse works on Cass’s cut, cleaning it and checking how serious it is, while being extra careful not to touch Cass anywhere else.

+

+

There are, of course, moments – more often than not – when Jesse is truly, crushingly miserable. He drinks himself within an inch of his life, hoping, distantly and a little half-heartedly, that he would just drink himself to sleep and wouldn’t wake up after, not this time. He thinks of the whiplash hits on his back, tearing his skin with a sick nauseating sound, of desperate prayers to no one in the middle of long sleepless nights, of Tulip’s heart-wrenching scream, which still makes his heart skip a beat, even to this day. He dwells on a simple fact that he’s got nothing, _nothing_ to show for his life, nothing to leave after himself, besides pain and destruction. If a lightning were to strike his pathetic miserable ass right here and then, nobody would ever know or remember the depressed drunkard of a preacher that used to work in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere, once upon a time.

He looks at his house, leaning on the door and unable to come inside. The tiny box of a house stands, pathetic and undignified, among miles and miles of greyish field with grass burnt down from the sun a lifetime ago. Its façade boring and grey, like everything else in sight, looks ugly and miserable, being merely plain four walls that it is. It smells like paranoia and loneliness, and it feels aged with tears and misery of those who were here before him: decades of years ago that haven’t changed a thing. He pats the door, remembering the unceasing clash of hammers and nails, the hungry teeth of saws.

He doesn’t want to be here, he realizes desperately, miserably, suddenly tearing up at the prospect of going inside and being there alone. It’s an unfortunate old thing of a house, cobbled together from little faith and too much cruelty. Jesse remembers that, too.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but somewhere along the line of his thoughts, something wet started running down his face. Belatedly, he realizes he is crying.

In the shade of an old miserable house, he wipes his tears furiously, ashamed. Looking around and making sure no one has witnessed this unbearable moment, he forces himself to go home.

He closes the door behind him carelessly and takes his shoes of, but stops dead when his gaze shifts to his living room.

Inside is Cassidy, slumped on his couch, boots kicked up on the arms of it. Cass is making ridiculous exaggerated faces, as if training for an audition in a theatre, and he’s also cooing at something on his chest. With his cried-out, puffy, red eyes, Jesse squints at him: there’s something tiny and furry sitting on Cassidy. Without saying a word, he crosses the space to his couch in four large steps.

“Honey, I’m home,” Cass says loudly, grinning, “Or is it you, who’s supposed to say that? I’m not sure which of us is should be the housewife, but I could play the lass, if you wanna be the butch one.”

He notices Jesse’s face then, his smile falling immediately, eyebrows drawing together in a worried expression. “Hey, Jess, you alright, mate?”

“I’m fine,” Jesse cuts him off, before Cass a chance to ask. He feels ashamed at being caught at such a excruciating moment, and by Cass of all people. He shoots the vampire a warning glare to shut up and let it drop, and, thankfully, Cassidy does just that.

Jesse is looming over him now, and he can’t believe his eyes. Cassidy is petting and squishing gently a tiny little puppy sitting on his chest. The thing is so small it could fit on Jesse’s palm; it’s furry and red-ish, and has whiskers around its tiny face, that make it look smiley. His ears and eyes entirely too big for its microscopic body, it almost makes Jesse tear up again, this time from the sheer adorableness of the little dog.

“What is that?” Jesse says shortly, gesturing at the thing. Cass blinks at him, as if he didn’t expect Jesse to ask any questions. Jesse wants to smack him for such impudence.

“Found dis lil’ lad behind a bar – some tool left him in a rubbish bin, can you believe that?” Cass is saying with indignation, never stopping with his petting. The puppy seems entirely too familiar and comfortable with him, surprisingly enough. “Can we keep him, pretty please?”

The question knocks the breath out Jesse, and he just stands, stupidly, gulping for air like a fish knocked out of water. He’s not sure what shocks him more, the unexpected – but surprisingly welcome – presence of Cassidy’s here, in his house, with a puppy in his arms, looking as if he owns the place; the fact that Cass is talking about keeping an actual living and breathing animal, or the casually spoken ‘ _we_ ’ in the suggestion, somehow including Jesse in this ridiculous crazy affair. The word makes Jesse go a little numb, limbs feeling out of place, sticking uselessly along his body.

“Cassidy. What are you even talking about?” He tries to reason, and the puppy whimpers, as Cass momentarily stops scratching it behind its ears.

“Seriously, Padre, take a good look a’ him,” He holds the puppy up for Jesse to inspect. It brings its little pink tongue out, apparently trying to lick Jesse from afar. “Innit just _adorable_?”

Cass is a huge ridiculous sap, Jesse thinks incredibly, as the vampire brings the puppy back down and lets it lick his lips. Jesse scrunches his nose, grossed out.

“Cass, don’t be an idiot,” he says, as Cassidy frowns. “Do you even realize this is a huge responsibility? Who’s gonna take care of this thing? Who’s gonna take him for walks and give him food, and take him to a vet? I ain’t gonna do all that, when you’re stoned out of your damn mind on cocaine or heroine, or whatever it is that keeps you here!”

For a lack of a better word, Cass looks offended, maybe even hurt. He curls in on himself a little, as if trying to be small, which, of course, he can’t be, and the sight is so pitiful that Jesse momentarily feels bad.

“Do you honestly fuckin’ t’ink I couldn’t get shite drugs in any other shite town? It’s not drugs that keep me ‘ere, Jesse,” Cass says quietly, intently, with much more meaning behind his words than what might’ve seemed to Jesse. Both Cass and the puppy are looking at him now, and there’s a serious completion going on there for the best ‘puppy-dog eyes’ in the room, Jesse excluded. There’s an urge suddenly to pet one of them, and Jesse’s not sure which one.

“Where do you even plan to keep it?” Jesse bellows, trying again to appeal to Cass’s sensibility, if there is any left. “In the church attic? In a box outside? Have you even thought about it, _at all_?”

“’Course I ‘ave, Jess, I’m not so much of a tool as you seem to think I am,” Cass says haughtily. “Wherever I keep him, it’s sure gonna be more sound than what he’d have, had I left him out on the streets, innit right?”

And it does make sense, much to Jesse’s dissatisfaction. He surveys the scene in front of him again: Cass stretched on his old sofa, the puppy trying desperately to lick him everywhere at once. Cass looks at the thing with an expression Jesse’s never seen him wear before – loving, tender, and affectionate. He kind of wants to be the one Cass looks at with that expression.

He shakes his head, amazed at the stupidity of his own thoughts. For every confusing and ridiculous emotion he’s been through ever since Cass has first appeared in his life, crashing down on him like a goddamn sledgehammer, Jesse still can’t quite believe he’s being jealous of a _puppy_ now.

“It seems really comfortable with you,” Jesse admits reluctantly. Cass looks up at him.

“Yeah, he does, doesn’t he? There’s a lad,” he coos to the puppy again, making a ridiculous kissy face. “Dogs usually like me.”

And there’s something odd in the way he says it, as if ‘ _unlike people’_ , got left unspoken at the end of the sentence, but Jesse still hears it just fine. It is the saddest thing, really, that Cass thinks that way, and Jesse feels partially responsible for not ever giving Cass a reason to feel otherwise, never truly letting him know just how much Jesse likes him and appreciates him, and enjoys his company. So this time Jesse doesn’t fight the urge to touch this lanky weird creature that so suddenly stumbled in his life and turned it around, utterly and completely.

He touches Cassidy’s cut on his cheek, fingers barely there at all. Cass’s body stills completely.

“Yeah, they’re not the smartest animals, are they,” Jesse drawls, warmly, his hand still on Cass’s face. Cass barks out a laugh.

“They are the most loyal ones, though,” he says, quietly, as if afraid that too much sound will scare Jesse’s hand off his face. “And they will never leave ya.”

Again, Jesse feels Cass’s the unsaid words clearly and loudly. Cass’s past experiences of people leaving him and abandoning him hang in the air between them like a cartoony rainy cloud, following Cass everywhere he goes. And Jesse understands him now, at this moment, truly does, for the first time, like an oracle whispering in his ear, telling him the secrets of the universe. Cass gets attached to people, maybe too easily, which for Cass, must be as fun as a trip to an urologist. Only now he thinks, really thinks, what it must be like for the vampire, going through friends and loved ones like one would through disposable toothbrushes, what when comparing to a normal human life span. Jesse can’t imagine the amount of friends that must have left Cass, betrayed him, tried to exorcise him, or simply died on him, each and every time as Cass was left to watch they grow old around him and, sooner or later, die and leave him behind in pieces.

Now _this_ is what punishment must feel like, Jesse thinks bitterly, and sympathizes.

“You gonna do anything about that scar?” He says instead, his finger tracing the thick long cut along Cass’s cheek. He thinks he sees Cassidy shiver.

“Ain’t nothin’ I can do for now, Padre, unless you’ve got a well pint of blood stacked somewhere in yer fridge, mate,” Cass says, biting his lip in a somewhat nervous tic of a gesture.

“Drink mine,” Jesse says suddenly, the words escaping his mouth before he can even process them. Cass stares at him, his intense eyebrows drawn together faster than Jesse can blink. He thinks about his unexpected – even to himself – offer, but he finds he isn’t willing to take his words back. Cass is his friend, who is in pain, and Jesse’s gonna act like a good Christian and offer him the last shirt. He takes his hand off Cass’s face though, because he’s still got pride.

Cassidy is looking at him with an expression very similar to the one he was looking at the puppy with. Jesse is getting warm under this gaze, his insides trembling as if during the worst of hangovers. He swallows audibly; the puppy on Cass makes a tiny whining sound.

“Jess, are you serious?” Cass says, making Jesse feel like they’ve switched roles; wasn’t he the one asking the same question just a moment ago? “Do you even realize what you’re offering?”

Jesse nods, trying for indifferent, not wishing to make a big deal out of this for his own sake. His hands feel uncomfortable at his sides, as Cass continues to look at him this way, as if Jesse is the most amazing thing he’d ever seen, and his giant marshmallows of hands twitch to do something, useless every moment that they’re not touching Cass.

“What’s the big deal?” Jesse says, but it comes out way too quiet. There must be something wrong with acoustics here, he should definitely investigate. He clears his throat, tries again. “I’m merely gonna have two elegant holes on my neck, Cass, I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

Cass winces as if he’s got a particularly bad toothache. “I see the infamous bleeding Twilight shite must have reached this faraway land, after all,” he shakes his head theatrically. “My dear naïve Padre, forget everything you think you know about vampires. I don’t really have fangs, man, so trust me – there ain’t anything elegant or pretty about it. I mean, I wish I had fangs – I bet I would kick arse, like, _birds dig fangs_ , let me tell ya – but, no, fuck you, Cassidy, just these unsophisticated set of stupid human teeth for you, enjoy and fuck off, do you know what I mean like?”

No, Jesse doesn’t, naturally, why the hell would he? Cass finishes his tirade, showing off his teeth for Jesse’s inspection. He can immediately spot the one in front and slightly to the left missing. For all it’s worth, Jesse’s surprised Cass has managed to keep even that amount of teeth, considering the amount of decades he’s been around. But then, Cass is an unkillable bastard who regenerates, so Jesse shouldn’t give him credit for the utmost dental care.

More importantly, Cass is babbling, and Jesse knows he does that when he’s really nervous. He tries to analyze that bit of information and draw a logical conclusion, but his brain short-circuits on him.

“Okay, so, maybe not so elegant, then, but still,” Jesse mumbles, unable to recognize his own voice. “I don’t like you being in pain, Cass.”

“Padre, how do you imagine me getting’ any of t’at sweet blood of your without tearing you apart, hm?” Cass says softly, shaking his head. “C‘mere till I tell ya, I’ve never drunk anyone’s blood without killing them first – or in the process, d’ya understand?”

“I know you ain’t gonna kill me, Cass,” Jesse says, confidently, and this he knows for sure. Somehow, somewhere along the line he’s apparently started to trust the vampire with his life. Amazed at this little revelation, he pushes Cass further. “And I can handle a few scratches, you know I can.”

“Those won’t be just a few scratches, Jess,” Cass retorts, visibly annoyed now, and Jesse honestly cannot understand what the big deal is. He just wants to help, and not that he won’t survive loosing a few pints of blood, people donate it all the time, anyway. “It’d be ugly, messy and fucking all over the place, what with biting through you with these stupid yokes!”

“With what?” Jesse says, frowning, as more often than not he’s got no fucking clue what Cass is talking about. Cass points to his teeth. “Those’re fucking called _teeth_ , Cass, and it’s my business to deal with the mess!”

“And mine is to not let you be a dope and do it in t’e first place, alright!” Cass shouts, and a whimper comes from the furry thing on his chest. Jesse blinks; he’s forgot that the puppy was even there. Cass’s hand starts to pet it frantically like the dog is some kind of a squishy stress relief toy.

“Cass, don’t be stupid,” he drawls, trying to make Cass see sense. “You’re all bruised up and cut, and the wound on your cheek’s still bleeding half the time. All you have to do is have some of my blood I’m offering you, so, again, _don’t be an idiot!_ ”

“I’m not gonna drink from you, Jesse, it’s not up for dispute, yeah?”

“But why?” Jesse bellows, unable to understand Cass’s sudden reluctance to take what’s being offered, without having to sneak around or steal.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Cass mumbles out without looking at Jesse, so quietly that Jesse almost can’t make out the words. Jesse feels something stuck in his throat.

“Cass, you won’t hurt me,” Jesse tries again, but Cass only shakes his head, dead serious and unswayable.

“Darlin’ the only t’ing I’m decent at – good even – is hurting people,” Cass is saying too fast, like he’s struggling to get the words out as quickly as he can and be done with them. “And then you’re here, begging for trouble, when I clearly promised ya – no trouble at all – so, no, Jess, there aren’t too many outcomes for this, and none of ‘em involve you _not being hurt_.”

Cass falls silent, his eyebrows a mile high up his forehead, and they both stare at each other, Jesse contemplating if he should push any further.

“Jesse, it’s fine, love, honest to God,” a shiver runs down through him at the endearment, which Cass casually involves in his speech as if it’s nothing, but it’s been a long, long time since Jesse’s been called ‘love’ or ‘darling’, and his palms are sweating now. “And when they heal normally like that, I feel a little more human, anyway.”

“Fine,” he says instead, dropping this, _for now_. Jesus, does Cass have him wrapped round his Irish finger. “Tell me this, though, where are you gonna get the money to keep the dog?”

Cass stares at him for a moment longer, as if to make sure Jesse has actually dropped the subject of blood, then looks relieved. He smiles toothily, and Jesse is caught at the sight of those fucking dimples, imaging for a moment what it would feel like, kissing and licking at those, Cass laughing warmly at his ministrations. He blinks a few times to get the image out of his mind.

“The means are not important, Padre, the end result is what matters, innit?” Cass says cheekily, his huge palms hugging the puppy close, making him look almost microscopic in Cass’s large hands.

“So, you’re gonna steal, is what you mean,” Jesse says, resigned. Cass is fucking incorrigible, and Jesse is unable to refuse him fucking anything, and what the hell does that say about him?

“Now, I didn’t say that, did I? I didn’t do nathin’ yet! But can you deny this adorable little lad some food, Padre?” Cass wonders, and Jesse thinks, apparently I can’t deny anything _to you_. “It’s the word of God, Jesse, mate, ‘thy shalt steal if deemed necessary’, I can’t believe you’ve never ‘eard this one, before.”

Cass keeps rambling something about the puppy, about God, and Jesse, but Jesse’s not listening anymore, he’s made his mind pretty much when Cass first asked him, anyway. He wonders at that powerful dependence he’s developed on Cassidy, this inability to stay away from him, to refuse him anything, this desire to be by his side at all times. It’s nothing new, not really, he’s felt this way before, but the last person he felt about in this way was Tulip, and now that’s something to worry about. He doesn’t wish for this – whatever this is – to end up like he and Tulip did, before even fucking starting.

“Oi, Jesse, mate, you paying attention?” Cass calls, his facial expressions switching ten times a second. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“What’s not a problem?” Jesse says, not having heard the last of Cass’s ranting.

“Honestly, lad, the attention span of ya is that of a bloody spoon!” Cass grumbles, and Jesse rolls his eyes. “I was asking ya, can I stay ‘ere tonight, yeah, until I organize something for the lil’ one ‘ere?”

Stay here tonight, sure, why the hell not, Jesse thinks, not that he’s got any personal space left, anyway, not with Cassidy around. He sighs deeply, long-sufferingly, closing his eyes for a moment and realizing only then that he should be annoyed. He should be irritated at Cass for popping his bubble of personal space like that, tornading into his life and sucking into himself everything Jesse’s thought was important.

The thing is, he’s not annoyed or irritated. He’s _enjoying_ it. He smacks Cassidy’s feet, trying to make room for himself on the couch, and sits, relaxing against old dusty cushions. Cass thunks his head to the arm of the couch, swings his feet into Jesse’s lap, simply and casually, as if he’s been doing it every day.

“So, what say you, Padre? Can we crash ‘ere tonight, yeah?”

Jesse glances over at them, where the puppy is now a soft ball of fur, sleeping on Cassidy’s chest.

“Adorable,” Jesse admits reluctantly, because he’s not made of steel.

“Thank you, Padre, but what do you think of the dog?” Cass smirks cheekily, and Jesse nudges him with his elbow. Cass twitches, his long skinny legs lying across Jesse’s lap.

“It’s not like it’d stop you, even if I said ‘no,’” Jesse says, trying to sound resigned.

“Aww, darling, I knew you couldn’t resist me fantastic charming person,” Cass grins, smug, but careful not to disturb the sleeping ball of adorableness on top of him. “You love me too much!”

Indeed, Jesse thinks, closing his eyes wearily, _indeed_.

+

+

Cass stays the night with him at Jesse’s place, and then, inexplicably, he stays the next one, too, and the one after that. And then, somewhere along the line Jesse realizes it’s been more than a week now, and Cass is still there, having taken residence on Jesse’s rusty couch.

He doesn’t bring it up, and neither does Cass, and they side step around the issue, and it’s easy, because if Jesse is good at something, he’s good at pretending and repressing. Both of those skills seem incredibly useful around Cass. But what he does notice, though, is that coming home no longer feels like a punishment he has to bear, and his old house doesn’t seem so miserable anymore.

Somewhere between Monday, when Cass first came to his place, and Thursday, by which Cass had still failed to leave him alone, Jesse went to the hospital and stole blood transfusion kits – needles, tubes, bags and all. He came back to the house, now an absolute mess with Cassidy in it, sat down at the table and began the lengthy process of transfusing his blood in the little bags, labeled ‘Annville General’. After he was done, he placed the bags carefully – there were three of them now – in the fridge on unstable shaky legs, post-it notes on each of them with the words ‘ _For the rainy day_ ’ scribbled in his messy handwriting.

Cass stood in front of the fridge for a very long time, silent and still, when he first saw Jesse’s little gift.

“Jesse,” it was almost a whisper, a low rasp. Cass looked shocked, lost and moved at the same time, making Jesse’s arms itch to be put around him, hold him close.

“Didn’t hurt me at all, Cass, don’t you worry your old Irish heart,” Jesse said, smiling at him, and Cass closed his eyes shut, as if in pain, and didn’t say anything at all.

And days later Jesse noticed the first bag being only two-thirds full, and Cass’s cut was, all of a sudden, completely healed. They never talked about it.

Jesse relaxes on the sofa, a bottle of cold beer in his hand, and watches Cass move around the room, shirtless and sweaty, grumbling barely-audibly in accent so thick, Jesse struggles to understand him. It’s a sight to enjoy – a shirtless Cass – even though, the vampire is not pretty by any sensible standards. He’s almost impossibly charming, though, and Jesse watches the way the muscles on his back flex as Cass bends down, watches his sinewy chest with defined muscles, and sips the cold beer to cool down his suddenly hot body.

Cass is busy washing Jesse’s carpet of dog’s pee, and the blue and yellow rubber gloves look absolutely ridiculous on him. Jesse’s biting his lips, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Oi! Get your arse off that bloody couch, man, and come help me ‘ere,” Cassidy bellows, his expression comically annoyed. Too often, he reminds Jesse of a cartoon character, back when cartoons were drawn by hand. “You’re about as useful sitting over t’ere as a Kerry man with a hurley!”

“What,” Jesse says typically as he does in the moments when Cass is so Irish he could as well be a leprechaun.

“You’re feckin’ useless!” Cass explains, but Jesse is too busy watching a drop of sweat run down Cass’s chest, and his brain light of with the desire to lick it.

“It’s your fucking dog, Cass, you damn well clean after it!” Jesse says, logically, as he did not agree to be any dog’s cleaner or babysitter. Cass humpfs petulantly.

“You’re just jealous it doesn’t love you like it loves me,” Cass says smugly, quirking a thick eyebrow.

And there’s the thing, that is true – the damn puppy follows Cass around like he’s bodily attached to him, apparently having recognized the vampire as his master or his mama or his what-the-fuck-ever. More than that, it gets fucking pissy and grumbly every time Jesse attempts to approach it – or approach _Cass,_ for that matter – overly protective and ridiculously unintimidating. It might as well damn pee on Cass, for all the ownership rights the dog has demonstrated.

Jesse _is not_ jealous of the dog, because that would be fucking psychotic.

“Well, it’s just found a friend in you of the same intellectual level,” Jesse says, trying to not sound as if he actually gives a shit about what the dog likes. “Though, unfortunately, with a lower moral one.”

“Don’t be petty, Padre, love, jealousy doesn’t become you,” Cass says, smirking, before going back to scrubbing the carpet. The damn dog sits right next to him with – what Jesse is sure of – a deadly glare at the preacher.

Jesse just keeps on drinking his beer.

+

+

It’s been three weeks now of them bickering and laughing and sometimes fighting and watching reruns of old Jerry Springer episodes, and neither of them is eager to talk about the simple fact that they’re pretty much living together and acting like a couple, without actually being a couple. Jesse is restless and tense, walking on needles every single day, worried about Cassidy or, more specifically, about the supposed length of his stay with Jesse. He’s constantly thinking about the moment when Cass finally ups and leaves on for his next adventure, leaving him alone in the town that is going to loose all its colour without Cass there to brighten it up.

Cass is not going to stay here forever, he reminds himself, trying to prepare for the inevitable. He will get bored – he hates being bored – and he will flee then, maybe leaving Jesse the dog so Jesse wouldn’t die of sheer boredom and loneliness.

He comes home one day, on edge – like he usually is these days, and he must still have some stealth left in him as Cassidy doesn’t hear him from where he’s sitting in the kitchen, the dog on his lap breathing loudly.

Jesse squints at them through the gap in the half-opened door, sees that there’s something black in Cass’s hands that he keeps shoving at the dog’s little face. Upon closer inspection, Jesse realizes that the thing is his own shirt. He pauses at the other side of the door, curious as to what the actual hell Cass is doing right now.

“Jesse,” Cass says loudly and slowly, and for a moment Jesse nearly jumps, thinking he’s been caught eavesdropping and being an actual creep, before he realizes Cass is speaking to the dog. “Jesse,” the vampire repeats, as if speaking to a small child.

Jesse peeks in the room, watching Cass shove his shirt under the dog’s nose to sniff at.

“That’s Jesse’s, yeah, mate? Jesse is good, we _love_ Jesse,” Cass is saying to the dog, and Jesse’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, as he realizes that his friend is trying to get the dog to like him. Dear God, but Cass is just, well, something. “Now, you should change your attitude, lad, really, the cheek of ya! Jesse took you in – has taken us both in – so quit that shite, love, alright, or he’s going to kick you out – and me, by extension. And you don’t wanna live in the church attic, trust me.”

Jesse stays and listens to some more, an iron clad grasping his heart. He wants to come up to Cass, take his face in his hands and kiss him until he runs out of breath, hold him, feel Cass’s heartbeat if he even has one, warm up his cold vampire skin with his fingers and his lips.

But Cass is going to leave, he thinks again, the unbidden thought stuck in his head. Cassidy doesn’t tie himself down to a single place like that, and the novelty is bound to wear off soon. Jesse better prepare himself for that moment, and he sure as fuck should not try and contain such a lively and wild creature as Cassidy in a prison of domestic boredom.

He goes to his bedroom, silent and tentative, without saying a word to Cass.

+

+

It’s October, the yellowish and orange leaves scattered around, incredibly bright on dark wet pavement. The air is heavy with unshed rain, the cold knocking on the window, but not quite there yet. The sky is almost always grey and moody these days, draining the town of shadows and depth, colourless except for the bright leaves on the ground. Jesse feels like’s forgot what sun looks like, he hasn’t seen it for so long, but he sure as hell isn’t complaining as lack of sun means Cassidy can go around freely during day, by his side.

He watches Cass jump around the heaps of dry fallen leafs together with the dog – _Robin_ , he corrects himself, because that’s what Cass named him after Jesse put his foot down and told him a firm _no_ when Cass suggested _Doggy McDoge_. He watches them jump from heap to heap, Cass yelling and laughing loudly, stepping on dry leafs with childlike excitement when they crack under his feet. It’s not too cold, not yet, but Cass is wearing shabby long scarf he’s fished out of – Jesse bets – the donation box for the poor, and it swings behind him at every move.

The dog – _Robin_ – is now big enough to almost reach Cass’s knees, and Jesse hopes that’s about as high as it’s going to get. It barks happily, running around after and away from Cass, and back to him again. They sure have a connection now, a proper dog-and-its-master thing going on, and Jesse briefly remembers the film he’s watched a long time ago, about a dog waiting for its master for years and years, waiting for him to come back, unable to let go.

Cassidy must have related to the dog, Jesse thinks sadly. He must have sympathized.

“I’d be fucked if I could remember the last time I enjoyed the leafy so much!” Cass is yelling at him excitedly, beaming, from across the road where he’s playing catch with Robin now. Jesse’s sight might be playing tricks on him, but he thinks Cass’s cheeks are rosy and flushed. He chuckles quietly.

“We call it _fall_ in this country, Cassidy.”

“Sure, alright, yeah, fuck the language up, why not, you bloody yanks!” Cass grumbles half-heartedly, stepping on another heap of dry leafs with too much force and excitement for a 119 year old man he claims to be. “Anyway, Padre, come join us fer the run, will ya, don’t just sit t’ere like a borin’ old twat! Look at all this,” he gestures to the mess of leafs around him that, Jesse’s sure, Bob the town cleaner spent a hell of a lot of time gathering together.

Jesse doesn’t want to get up, he’s comfy right where he is, thank you very much, but Cass is gazing at him longingly, beaming, and it’s really so rare that Jesse sees Cass happy like this, laughing so hard he almost tears up. So he sighs, gets up, and walks across the road to join this crazy childish game of running around like complete idiots.

They run after the dog for a few minutes, trying to catch it and get the ball, and Jesse actually feels pretty good, the cool autumn wind blowing softly in his face, the tornado of leafs flying around them like magic dust, Robin, barking happily and letting Jesse touch him without grumbling.

“Now, now, Padre, I see you’re out of breath already,” Cass says, panting and red in the face, while Jesse hardly feels any tiredness. “You can’t obviously keep up with me fantastic athletic body and skills of the bleeding Olympic champion, so I suggest you sit down to relax. And I’ll just watch you do that, right here,” and he drops on the ground on the spot, breathing heavily and loudly.

“Some sportsman you are,” Jesse mocks him, looming above Cass, who's squinting up at him. “I had no idea you were that unfit.”

“What, me inflated triceps and me six-peck didn’t give me out?” Cass says drily.

“Aren’t vampires supposed to be super-humans? Don’t you have a greater speed, strength and basically, all superior abilities?” Jesse wonders, giving in and sitting on the ground next to Cass.

“Well, I do, sometimes, get super-annoying and super-arseholey, Padre, so, yes, I am superior in that regard,” Cass says, smiling lopsidedly. “And I also get super-attached, s’metimes, like a proper bloody supernatural bastard, you know what I mean like?”

Jesse does know what he means. There are sometimes urges, deep in his bones, to touch Cass, hug hold embrace kiss lick Cass, and his hands shake in those moments with the amount of power it takes to repress those urges. And sometimes there are surges of affection for Cass, coming deep from the bottom of his weary heart, of loving and tenderness, when he just needs to be around Cass like he needs air.

Robin comes sniffing at Cass face, trying to lick him on the cheeks and eyes, as Cass shuts his eyes quickly.

And Jesse sees his opportunity right then and there, so he pushes the dog away, leans down and kisses Cass on his gross, dog-licked lips. Cass’s eyes fly open, body going completely still, and Jesse panics, worried he read Cass wrong, screwed their entire relationship with this simple misjudgment, but then Cass melts into him, going soft and pliant like a ragdoll under Jesse, and fuck is that a turn on. Jesse devours his mouth, hands travelling up and down Cassidy’s skinny boney body, the dry leafs cracking around them in fresh air, Robin sticking his nose in every tiny gap in their bodies, not willing to be left out of something important that’s going on without him.

“Jesse,” Cass whispers, when they come apart, and there’s desperation and a tiny note of fear, if Jesse hears right. He lets his head fall on Cass’s collarbone, hides his face under Cass’s chin. “Jesse,” he says again.

“Yes, Cass?” Muffled against cold skin. He’s getting a bit cold, now that they're not moving, cold air blowing stronger. Robin shuffles nervously between them, unable to understand of he’s being ignored for something or punished.

“Jess, what is this, man?” Cass says, still not moving under Jesse’s body resting on top of him. His arms come around Jesse’s back, hands sliding into Jesse’s messy hair. He thinks, given a couple more minutes, he could easily fall asleep like this.

“I dunno, Cassidy, you tell me,” Jesse mumbles into Cass’s neck. “Lets see – we leave together, we have a dog together, we spend all of our time together, and there’s also labor division since you do all the cleaning and cooking, so, apparently, _this,_ Cass, is _marriage._ ”

“It’s a sad marriage if there’s no consummating, darling, I’m telling ya,” Cass says, chucking, looking at him like Jesse is the best thing that has and will ever happen to him. Jesse can’t resist it then, he moves a little further up and he kisses Cass’s cheeks, his chin, lips ghosting over trembling eyelids, tense forehead, dry lips. Cass is shaking a bit under him, but Jesse can’t tell if it’s because of the weather or lying on the ground, or if that’s just Jesse’s effect on him.

Reluctantly, through the sheer power of will, Jesse unglues himself from Cass and makes himself get up. Cass – along with Robin next to him – whines.

Jesse reaches out his hand, offering his help, as Cass grasps it

“Get up,” he says and pulls the lanky creature up, hugging him immediately as they are both standing. Shoulders straightening, Cass unfurls from his protective stance and puts one hand around Jesse’s shoulder and the other into the pocket of his ridiculous green jacket, which, come to think of it, is far too large for Cass’s skinny frame.

They start walking, intertwined everywhere hey can be, as Jesse imagines all the sinful ungodly things he’s going to do Cass once they reach a clean horizontal surface.

They walk past the Hoskowitz house, and Mr. Hoskowitz, who is watering her roses, smiles and waves at them happily. Robin is running around them, picking some shit up as he goes, making Jesse go through all trouble of catching him and getting the filth out of his annoying dog mouth.

“We goin’ back ‘ome now?” Cass mumbles a little bit sleepily, Jesse thinks, what after his running around like mad half a day. Jesse pulls him closer to his side, as close as possible for two fully dressed, walking men in public.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, and making sure no one looks at them, kisses Cass’s temple, forcing a small keening sound out of him. All of it, every single part of what’s happening, feels damn right, and maybe – just maybe – there’s still a chance for him, for both of them, and God has not forgot about him, not yet.

Maybe, this is not a punishment, after all, and is he gets exactly what he deserves, he might just be happy with that, because, apparently, he deserves an awful lot.

“Yeah. We’re going home.”

End.

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] For the Rainy Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584355) by [ProfDrLachfinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/pseuds/ProfDrLachfinger)




End file.
